Read Online Russell Wiley Is Out to Lunch by Richard Hine - Free Book Online

up the projector while telling us how much he’s looking forward to working with us all. Even though the room is small, he stands to present.
    His title slide appears:
M ACRO T RENDS IN THE N EWSPAPER I NDUSTRY : T HE F UTURE OF P ULP IN A P IXEL -B ASED W ORLD
    Susan groans aloud.
     
     
    I walk down the corridor with Dave, Martin and Susan.
    “Asswipe,” says Dave.
    “Dickwad,” says Martin.
    “Fuckheel,” says Susan.
    I sense ears pricking up within a six-cubicle radius.
    “Fuckheel?” I say. “He wasn’t that bad.”
    We reach the doors to the elevator bank. Dave punches the security panel with the side of his fist, pushes hard on the door so it bounces back off the wall.
    “Business school bullshit,” he says.
    “Don’t let him get to you,” I say. “He’s just some upstart consultant. He’s here on a project. He’ll be gone as soon as he files his report.”
    “Don’t be so sure,” says Susan, who sees the downside to everything. “This is how Henry operates.”
    “Do we even know how long he’s officially here?” says Martin. “Or did I miss that part?” Martin prides himself on his constant curiosity. But he’s never quite curious enough to get to Henry’s nine o’clock meetings on time.
    “You didn’t miss much,” says Susan. “Henry played up the new boy’s credentials. Told us he first met Judd when he was still in diapers.”
    Martin looks at me for clarification.
    “He started out in packaged goods,” I tell him. “Not just diapers. Detergents and air fresheners too. Then Harvard for his MBA.”
    “Major Bloody Attitude,” says Susan.
    “Fucking Harvard fucking MBAs,” says Dave.
    “Couldn’t he get a real job?” says Martin.
    Dave’s up elevator arrives, but he lets it go, waits for the next one. He’s still mumbling to himself as Martin, Susan and I get on our elevator down to twenty-five.
    The phone in my office is ringing.
    “What the hell was all that about?” says Ben Shapiro. Ben runs our events department. Hank Sullivan pulled him aside after Henry’s meeting to discuss plans for his next big client boondoggle. “I thought Dave was going to throttle the cute new consultant. And Henry just—”
    “Hold on, Ben,” I say. “That’s my other line.”
    “Can you believe that?” says Hank Sullivan, our sales director. “How does Henry let a kid walk in off the street and talk to Dave like that? I mean, we all know Dave is inflexible and arrogant, but you can’t just come out and say it.”
    “Don’t worry,” I tell Hank. “Dave will be all right. Henry will take care of it. He can’t afford to piss Dave and the production people off. He’ll take the kid aside, smooth out his rough edges. We won’t be seeing any performances like that again. But hey, let’s catch up later, can we? I’ve got another call holding.”
    I click back to Ben and tell him the same thing—including the part about having another call, even though it’s no longer true. I hang up the phone and stare out my window for a second or two.
    “I hear I missed a good meeting,” says Jeanie Tusa, our finance director. I swivel in my chair to see her leaning against my doorframe. Jeanie doesn’t enter my office unless she really has to. I’ve heard through the grapevine that she thinks I should “clean my room.”
    “Hi, Jeanie,” I say. “You didn’t miss much. Just the usual horse hockey.”
    “That’s not what I heard,” she says. “I heard Dave Douglas is really pissed at Henry’s new consultant.” Jeanie’s dirty blonde hair is curly in the way it gets when she doesn’t have time to blow it dry. She smiles, lips closed, her whole face scrunched up. It’s not her best look.
    “Judd?” I say. “I guess he did ruffle a couple of feathers.” I immediately regret saying even that much. It’s a violation of one of my cardinal rules: never tell anyone from finance anything. People from finance have the power to fuck you over. And Jeanie is no exception,